


Heavy Hands, Warm Heart

by MALLR4TS



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Alcohol, Bad Flirting, Bar Fight, Bruises, Chapter 2: Horseshoe Overlook (Red Dead Redemption 2), Drinking, F/M, Fist Fights, Flirting, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mutual Pining, Saloon, Slow Burn, Valentine - Freeform, Will add tags as I go
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-11
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:13:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26941945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MALLR4TS/pseuds/MALLR4TS
Summary: After Bill defends you from a creep at the Saloon, the two of you slowly begin building a relationship, with a sprinkle of awkwardness, and a hint of flirting.Gender-neutral reader! (Reader is mentioned to be smaller than Bill)
Relationships: Bill Williamson/Reader
Comments: 1
Kudos: 44





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm probably gonna use this at the foundation for a new Bill fic, and revise one of my really old Bill fics into this one :p 
> 
> Twitter and Tumblr are @MALLR4TS

  
Valentine may seem like a nice little muddy town with simple yet cliché country folk, but there was always a bad batch to every lot. You've head into town with a few of the gang members, visiting the local watering hole as the sun began to set. All seems well, you're slightly tipsy, but you yearn for another drink, so off you go, getting up from the table and making your way over to the bar.

You lean against the bar, resting your hand on the wooden surface as you fish out some loose change from your pocket, counting it multiple times to ensure you have the right amount.

"Hey, put that away," you hear a certain someone say, looking up to see Bill leaning against the bar next to you. "This one's on me," Bill tells you.

"You said that the last three rounds," you laugh.

"So? You want it or not?" Bill asks, sounding slightly blunt, but you know he means well. That's just Bill.

"I mean, if you're offering," you shrug, flashing him a thankful smile.

The bartender approaches and Bill orders another beer for the both of you, and in a spur of the moment decision, you butt in and order a shot each, flashing Bill a grin afterward.

"You tryna get drunk-drunk?" Bill asks you as the bartender fetches your drinks.

"I might be," you shrug. "Let me pay for them shots though," you say as you hand him your change.

"Fine," Bill rolls his eyes and shakes his head but lets you drop the money into his palm, eventually passing the handful of change over to the bartender once he's finished preparing your drinks.

"I hope you don't expect me to babysit you when you end up hammered," Bill chuckles as he picks up his shot.

"I don't expect anything from you, Mister Williamson," you reply with a smirk.

"You don't?" he asks, a little shocked and confused.

"The only thing I'd possibly expect is good company, but you give me that without me ever having to ask for it," you flirt.

Bill looks visibly flustered and quickly takes the shot, almost slamming the empty glass onto the bar as he watches you take yours. You can't help but smirk at the sight of him, those few barely flirtatious words have already made his cheeks turn red, and you're eager to see how much more he can take before he finally cracks.

"Oh," you say as you look up at him, "you got a little something," you say as you point to the hairs on his chin. Bill goes to move his hand up to wipe his face, but you place your hand on top of his, stopping him. "Here, let me," you say as you move your hand to wipe at his beard, removing the barely noticeable drop of whiskey that had dripped onto his beard. There wasn't much there, but you enjoyed the excuse to touch him, noticing the way his breaths got deeper and his cheeks turned even brighter.

Bill is a gruff guy, the size of a bear, and the temper of one too. You've seen him snap from the smallest of things, easily turning any man's skin purple just for looking at him funny. But here he is, blushing like a schoolgirl at such a small gesture, your hand barely touching him, but enough to make his mind hazy.

"T-thank you," Bill mutters, quickly clearing his throat as he picks up his beer and takes a well-needed swig.

"Hey, sweetheart. I got somethin' you could wipe," a creepy voice comments from behind you. You slowly look over your shoulder with a frown on your face to see an average looking drunk man propped up against the bar, eyeing you up as if you were a piece of meat.

"No, goodbye," you blankly reply as you turn back to Bill, rolling your eyes in disgust at him.

"You is one of those hard to get types, huh? Well, I can play," the man replies. He stands upright and is about to place his hand on you, but Bill reaches over your shoulder to grab his hand, the squeeze of his hand almost being enough to crush the strangers bones.

"They said they ain't interested. You deaf or somethin'? or just stupid?" Bill grumbles as he moves you out of the way with his other hand, pushing you behind him as he takes a step closer to the stranger.

"Well, you ain't got your hand on 'em, so why do you care?" The man scoffs as he tries to pull his hand from Bills, but Bill only tightens his grip instead, pushing a whimper from the strangers lips.

"Cause they said no, so that's that. End of it," Bill explains as he takes another step closer, his chest almost pressed up against the strangers.

The man scoffs again. "You clearly don't know a thing about-" He's cut off as Bill suddenly headbutts him, the sound of his skull cracking drawing everybody's attention over to the commotion.

The man barely hits the floor before Bill picks him up by the scruff of his shirt, putting his other hand on his leg, and lobs him against the pole in the middle of the saloon.

Another stranger shouts "Fight!" and the venue erupts into a fighting match. It seems if anybody had been looking at someone funny this evening, they'd run straight over to them and lay one out, settling their differences with their fists. What more did you expect from a town like Valentine?

You take cover behind the bar, joining the bartender who's sat on the floor holding his register, though he doesn't seem the slightest bit annoyed. He's probably used to this. You peer over the counter, grinning from ear to ear as you watch Bill lay punch after punch on that creep of a man, Bill's knuckles turning bloodier by the second.

Another stranger attempts to drag Bill off the man, tripping him in the process and Bill lands to the floor with a thud. They go to punch Bill, but Arthur is quick to throw the man off him, pulling Bill up and pushing him to exit the saloon.

"We're leaving! The lot of you, come on!" Arthur calls out as he heads for the exit, the rest of them following behind, but Bill hasn't reached the door yet.

You jump up at the right moment. Bill is grabbed by another man, and you sprint over, swiftly kicking him in the balls, watching his face turn sour as he falls to the floor. You grab Bill by his forearm and pull him out of there, running over to your horses and escaping as if you're being hunted by O'Driscolls.

The ride back is quiet, both of you panting heavily as your adrenaline slowly settles down. Bill hitches before you, and as you hitch your horse and turn to demount, Bill has his hand out, offering to help you down.

"Thank you," you say as you take it, slipping down off your horse.

"No, thank you. You saved me back there," Bill replies, nervously rubbing the back of his neck.

"You saved me," you laugh. "I dread to think what that creep was gonna do, and I had a lot of pleasure watching you beat the shit out of him for me," you smile, your hand still holding onto Bills.

"It's the right thing to do," Bill shrugs.

You look down at his hand, gently turning it over with both of yours as you take notice of his bloody knuckles. They're already starting to bruise, and they'll definitely be purple by the time morning arrives.

"I gotta get you cleaned up," you tell him as your thumb wipes over the drying blood. 

"You do?" he questions.

"Yeah, least I can do since you saved me," you reply. "Come on," you say with a gentle tug his hand, pulling him into camp.  
  


You order Bill to wait at the campfire whilst you grab some ointment and a cloth from your tent. As you sit down on the log next to him, you notice that he still seems flustered; He's staring at his hand, either thinking about the bruises forming, or ghosting the image of your smaller hands clinging onto his. 

"Come here," you say as you place your hand out. Bill slowly puts his hand on yours, his rough palms pressed against your softer one, and both of you have to resist the urge to intertwine your fingers. You hold his hand steady as you begin to dab the ointment on his knuckles, a job that could easily take a minute tops, but you just have to drag it out. Bill, of course, doesn't mind.

Bills eyes flick between watching you tend to him and staring at the campfire. You can feel how tense and uneasy he is, so you try your best to calm him down.

"I ain't ever had a person stick up for me like that before," you confess.

"You ain't? ever?" Bill repeats, his eyes flicking back over to you.

"Never," you reply, shaking your head at the same time. "Was nice to see it, you know? Seeing you reinforce the word ' _no_ ' for me, not that it ever needs reinforcing."

"Really? I err... I thought I'd scared you. I get carried away sometimes," Bill mutters, his head dipping.

"Not at all!" you tell him as your eyes flick up to meet his, his head lifting as you move yours. "I'm glad to see you've got your mind in the right place. It's concerning that there's so many folk out there that will still try after someone's told them no," you say with a sigh. "But I've got you keeping me safe, so."

"You've got me?" Bill repeats, the words not meaning to slip from his mouth.

"I mean, I had you defending me tonight, and I'm sure if I need you to defend me again then you'll be right there," you reply, your eyes trailing back down to his hand.

"Sure. I'd swing a punch for you any day," Bill replies, but his face quickly drops, realizing that's nothing like how it sounded in his head. "I mean, I uhm.. I'd.."

"I know what you mean," you softly laugh. Bill places his head in his spare hand, mumbling under his breath. "You ain't an idiot, Bill. I can hear you," you tell him.

"I am," Bill sighs as he looks at you.

"Only sometimes," you joke.

"That sometimes seems to happen a lot," he shakes his head.

"It doesn't! You just think it does. Trust me, alright?"

"Fine," Bill sighs again.

"Now, I'm gonna head to bed. You ain't gonna get into any more fights whilst I'm sleeping, are you?" you tease.

"I'll try my hardest not to," Bill jokes back with you, thankfully letting out a light laugh.

"Good," you say with a nod. You stand up, finally letting go of Bills hand, already missing having his skin pressed against yours. "Don't stay up too long," you tell him.

"I won't. Goodnight," Bill replies, looking up at you.

"Goodnight," you repeat. You quickly bend down to place a soft kiss on his cheek, "and thank you, again," you tell him.

You're grinning as you walk away, though you try your hardest not to look over your shoulder to admire the puddle of a man you've left sitting by the campfire. Bill's heart is pounding faster than a racehorse, his stomach is swarming with butterflies, and his cheeks feel so hot that they're about to burst.

How dare you! Leaving Bill to melt like that!

You rush to bed, excited for tomorrow, so you can continue to flirt with that man. There's something alluring about seeing a man twice the size of you become a fumbling mess from the smallest of things, and like you said to yourself earlier, you're curious to see how much he can take before he finally cracks.


	2. Chapter 2

Horseshoe Overlook is a little colder than usual today. Despite it being spring, the temperature around here doesn't seem to rise much, so, you pull on your coat after bundling yourself in a few layers, then roll out of your tent and begin your morning routine.

A wash, a cup of coffee, a light snack, and then it's time to do chores. You get the worst ones out of the way, spending your morning pouting as you work, rushing some of them, so you'll at least have the late afternoon free to do whatever you please.

Midday arrives, and you're sat on a table near the edge of camp, cleaning the camp guns, propping the rifles up against the table as you take your time to scrub them. These guns are rarely used, usually sitting in somebody's grubby hands as they patrol the camp for a few hours, so you'll never understand how they become filthy.

  
Somebody greets you and you perk your head up, watching as Bill strolls by. "Afternoon, you're up early," you comment, knowing that Bill tends to sleep past midday.

"Yeah, I err, got an early night last night," he explains, stopping in his tracks to talk to you.

"That's new," you say with a smile. "How's that hand?" you question.

"S'alright, ain't as sore as I thought it'd be thanks to that ointment," he replies, giving you a soft smile as he approaches where you're sat. He props one leg up on a chair opposite you, resting his forearm on his knee, his back slightly arched.

You have to look away for a brief moment to pull yourself together; is Bill aware that he's attractive? Is he aware that the pose he's got comfortable in is something you'd find in one of those raunchy male pin-up magazines? Is he aware that you're trying your hardest not to gloss over him, admiring the thickness of his thighs, the window of chest hair peeking out of his shirt, the rough and rugged look he wears so well without even realizing.

"It's the least I could do," you reply, eyes finally meeting his. "Besides, like I said last night, you did save me from that creep," you shrug.

"'N' like I also said, s'the least I can do for you. Just a shame the night was cut short, I was havin' a good time," Bill grumbles, clearly still frustrated that the stranger had to ruin everything, just as you were getting boldly flirtatious with the larger man. Bill dips his head slightly, the brim of his hat attempting to cover his cheeks as he remembers the way you spoke to him last night, your words like honey on the tip of your tongue, softly brushing away the liquor that had clung to his beard after both of you downed your shot.

"Maybe we'll have to head back there soon, have a proper night in town," you tell him, Bills head snapping up as he repeats your words in his mind.

"You wanna go into town with me again?" Bill questions, the words falling from his mouth, and he begins to quickly backpedal. "I mean... with us, cause you know, there was a bunch of the others with us too, and -"

"They didn't step in to save me," you shrug. "Plus, I like your company, so I'm happy if it's just us," you smile at him, watching his cheeks turn redder than his shirt.

"You sure?" Bill asks for reassurance, attempting to study you as he worries that this is a joke. It's typical of Bill to doubt himself, but you're more than happy to assure him that your words are true.

"Of course, I'm sure," you smile again. "Maybe we'll go next week? And hope the town doesn't remember us from last time," you say with a soft laugh. From what you've heard, Valentine doesn't get much action often, so you're almost certain a few strange faces will remember you, but you doubt anyone will comment on it, especially after the fight Bill put up.

"Yeah... that sounds good," Bill smiles at you. You notice the way his head attempts to lower again, shy and nervous as always, but he fights the urge and keeps it raised. At least he's trying to be more confident.

"So, what have you got planned for the day?" you question.

"I uh, was gonna chop some wood 'n' then maybe head out to find some leads," Bill informs you.

You can't help but tilt your head at his reply. Bill doing chores? Well, a chore, but that's still foreign for Bill. You see him on guard duty all the time, and that's as extreme as camp life gets for Bill. You've never really questioned why Bill doesn't do more manual labour jobs around camp, knowing that he can easily lift his own weight with his eyes closed, but then again, it's Bill...

"Chop some wood?" you find yourself repeating his words.

"Yeah... I-I figured that maybe I could help a bit more around camp, you know?" Bill mumbles quietly, barely loud enough for you to hear his reply.

"Remind me to check what was in that ointment," you say with a laugh, and thankfully, Bill laughs with you. "Shouldn't you let your hand heal first?"

"It feels fine, honestly. It looks worse than it is," Bill explains as he gazes over his hand again, and although you agree that it doesn't look too bad, that still doesn't mean he shouldn't rest it. However, Bill is stubborn and once he has his mind fixed on something, he'll follow it through, so you don't bother protesting his decision.

"Alright, but if it starts aching then you need to stop. And feel free to find me if you want some more ointment," you reply, shaking your head lightly at his stubbornness.

"I will," Bill replies, flashing you a smile as he stands back up, making his way over to the chopping log, only a few meters away.

  
Your head finally dips back down, and you return to your cleaning, dabbing some more oil onto your cloth and scrubbing along the barrel. Your hands are dirty, covered in oil that takes a while to wash off, but at least the oil hasn't dripped down onto your pants like it did last time, leaving a stain on a somewhat new pair, making you grumble in frustration as you attempted to wash the stain out. Oh well, at least you've learnt from your mistakes and put on a scruffy pair today.

The sound of a swinging axe urges you to raise your head again, distracting you from your thoughts. Your eyes meet Bills side, watching him move the chopped wood onto a soon-to-be pile, before putting another thick log in place. He swings the axe down again, chopping the log with ease, his cheeks already turning a little red from manual labour.

He repeats the process, again and again, and your eyes remain fixated on him. Although his shirt is thick, you can still see the way his biceps jiggle with every swing of the axe. Not to mention the way his lips remain parted, breathing heavily as sweat slowly forms on his forehead and cheeks.

Bill stops after a few logs, so he can remove his hat, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand before placing his hat back on. You can't help but lounge about in the thought of Bill working shirtless, his suspenders slung over his shoulders as he works, revealing his thick build and forest of body hair that you assume he has. You've taken the odd peek at his chest, and needless to say, you're hungry for more.

  
"Somethin' caught your eye?" Arthur suddenly questions as he walks by, making you jump as your head snaps around to face him.

"Huh? N-No, I was just havin' a break," you reply, quickly picking up the cloth that had fallen from your hand onto the table, and continuing to clean the same rifle that you've had in your hands for at least fifteen minutes.

"Sure you were," Arthur says with a smirk. He knows.

You don't reply, dipping your head down and attempting to focus on your chore, overhearing Arthur footsteps disappear into the camp. You let out a soft sigh, trying to pull your thoughts together, so you can focus on your work, but you can't help that your eyes often trail up to watch Bill work.

At least you have a good show to work as you finish up your chores.


End file.
